


Prom

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Prom Night, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's date ditches him. Dean's here to remedy that problem.<br/> </p><p>---<br/>short and not my best work but something for my boyfriend</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prom

"Date ditch you?" Dean asks. Sam's leaning against the hood of the impala with a hand sliding through his hair over and over. The taller male jerks and looks over his shoulder at Dean. He’s wearing a dark black tux, a green tie peeking out from behind his lapels. The girl he was supposed to have been taking must have worn emerald green. She probably looked good in it, but, Dean thought bitterly, Sam looks better in it than she would.

"No," he responds. His voice is more firm than necessary. Dean smiles warmly, almost like a white flag, and leans against baby beside him.

"You ain't gotta act like that. I know how it feels. I've been ditched plenty of times," Dean says with a shrug of his shoulders. Sam just looks at him for a second before his eyes dart away.

"Okay. Yeah. She ditched me," he admits. Silence draws on between them. Dean crosses his arms over his chest and huffs bitterly. How could anyone just up and leave Sam? He'd have to find the girl and give her a piece of his mind.

"She's missing out," Dean says finally. Sam looks at him funny. Then he looks away and his hair hides his eyes. Dean’s hand twitches with the urge to brush it out of his eyes, but he doesn’t. There’s a lot of things he wants to do, but doesn’t. Hugging him included.

"No, she isn't. She has a date. She's at the party. I'm missing out," Sam protests. Dean rolls his eyes at him. For someone so smart, he sure could be thick-headed. He shakes his head with a sigh.

"No, Sam, she's missing out on you," Dean repeats. Sam lets out this short laugh and Dean frowns.

"I'm not much to miss out on," Sam says with a shaky sigh, running his fingers through his messy hair. He'd been messing with it a lot. He tried to act like this wasn't bothering him, but it was. Dean frowns. He was already frowning, so he just frowns more. 

He was always like this. The self-loathing, the depreciation of his worth. It made Dean angry. Not angry at Sam, but angry at whoever told him that he wasn’t good enough.

"You're way better than any girl that would just drop you on prom night, Sam," Dean tells him. Sam looks at him and huffs.

"He's way hotter than me. And I don't even know how to dance," Sam grumbles. Dean stares at him for a long moment.

"You don't know how to dance?"

"That's not the point."

"I can show you how," Dean offers, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers. Sam gapes for a second and frowns. His frown frowns. He's just a huge frown. 

“No, Dean. I’m fine not knowing,” he says, but he isn’t. Dean knows he isn’t.

“It’d make you feel better,” Dean offers, already leaning towards the open window of the impala. Sam’s still frowning. That is, until Dean watches him soften. He brushes his hair from his face and behind his ear.

"Um..." Sam hums, nervously, but nods. "Okay."

Dean's then reaching into baby and cranking on the radio, finding a station playing slow classic music. Of course, it's not exactly what they should be dancing to, but the rhythm is steady and Dean figures that that's best for both of them. Dean’s rusty with this sort of thing. It’s been a year or two since his senior prom and he hardly remembers the girl he took, let alone how he danced with her.

Dean's hand takes Sam's and the other rests at his hip. Sam's free hand finds Dean's shoulder.

"See? Already a natural," he murmurs with a grin. Sam shakes his head, smiling. It’s the kind of smile that reaches his eyes. An easy smile. One that Dean hasn’t seen in a long, long time, since they started hunting.

"Okay. So, all you really do is move it a square to the beat of the music. Follow my lead," Dean explains. He sways and in turn makes Sam sway and soon, they're swaying in time with the slow music pouring from the open window of the impala.

It's easy, probably easier than Sam thought judging by the look on his face. Dean finds himself smiling the entire time and doesn't once think to stop.

He can't help but admire the taller male. Broad shoulders and a strong jaw and that ridiculously good hair. He always jokes about wanting him to cut it, but he loves it. The gentle curl at the ends of his hair and how it sweeps across his face when he's doing something. How Sam pushes it behind his ear when he's busy.

He’s… really handsome. Dean’s never honestly let himself think that before without scolding himself for even thinking about Sam that way. It would be different if it was just brotherly admiration, but it wasn’t. Dean viewed Sam a way that brothers shouldn’t and for the longest time he just found himself to be sick. Sick and even if he was sick, it’s getting to the point where if Sam didn’t care, he wouldn’t care either. 

He didn’t see the point in degrading himself over something like this, especially when Sam was put in danger almost daily and he could be gone at any moment. Dean’s the expert of living life in the present, so why doesn’t he do the same around his brother?

"Uh.. Dean...?" Sam questions. Snapping out of his reverie, Dean realizes what he's doing. One hand had snuck upwards to the side of Sam's face, fingertips sliding into his hair. Instead of freaking out and pulling away, Dean's rhythm falters, but he doesn't move his hand.

"Is this okay?" he asks, more a breathless question than anything. Sam's breathing quickens.

"Yeah..." he replies. They're too close, too close for Dean to hide the way that his eyes are on Sam's lips and how his cheeks are pink and everything's so vulnerable. He's so vulnerable under Sam's gaze, but he doesn't turn away. Sam can see all of him, he knows he can. He knows he can because Sam’s pupils dilate in surprise and some other emotion that he can’t determine. 

They stay like that for the longest time, until Dean’s other hand cups his cheek and Sam’s arms slip about his waist. They sway unconsciously to the music still humming from inside the impala and not once does he ever think about moving away. 

Apparently Sam doesn’t either. He gets closer. They both do, unconsciously until their noses are touching and Dean can hardly breathe. His heart hammers in his chest and he sucks in a deep breath. Sam sighs softly and Dean can feel his breath wash across his face. Mint. He must have had snuck a breath mint before they started dancing. The thought makes it a bit harder to breathe as his heart raises into his throat.

Sam’s hands are on his hips and Dean’s thumbs are brushing across his cheekbones. Cheekbones that he’s admired for so long. Cheekbones that he’s wanted to kiss for so long.

"This is wrong," Sam whispers, and Dean notes the flush in his cheeks, too.

"When did we ever pay attention to what was wrong?" Dean murmurs back.

“What would Dad say?” Sam asks and Dean shrugs, rests his other hand on his cheek.

“Do you think I give a damn what Dad would say?” he questions.

It's only a few seconds before Dean's capturing Sam's lips, pulling him flush against his chest because it's what he's wanted-- no, needed-- for the longest time.

Sam's mouth is like heaven and he can't help but groan into the kiss. How could he have ever resisted? How did he ever tell himself that this wasn't what he needed?

His mouth is soft and pliable. Dean wonders if he's ever been kissed, if he's his first. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes he is. Imagining Sam kissing anyone else makes his heart pulse painfully in his ribs.

His fingers slide up into his hair and he pulls him closer, pulls at his lips, pulls at his being. It's closer, closer, closer and not close enough.

He shouldn't have wanted this so bad, but as Sam's hands slide up under the bottom of his shirt, the thought fades. Sam kisses like it's going to be his last. Passionate and needy and warm. Like he was meant to be doing this. Dean thinks to ask him if this is really his first time.

Then it's over far too quickly and Dean's breath is coming quicker, cheeks flushed and lips pink and kiss-worn. His hands don't leave Sam's hair as he pulls him back in for another more passionate kiss. Sam obliges.

And when they pull back, Dean's panting and resting his forehead against Sam's, looking into his eyes. It's a cheesy romance movie moment, but Dean can't think to care. A lazy smile falls across his lips, mirroring the one that drifted across Sam’s moments earlier.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “People are starting to stare.” Sam’s face flushes and he takes a quick look around, prompting a laugh out of Dean.

“Jerk,” Sam snaps playfully, a grin spreading across his face.

“Bitch,” he replies, pecking his lips once more before opening the passenger side door to the impala.

**Author's Note:**

> probably maybe going to continue this into something longer  
> i have ideas  
> lets hope my motivation continues


End file.
